Of Announcements
by Freya-Rhianna
Summary: Sherlock's never been known for his tact, but this is crossing a line. Pre-Slash Lestrade/Dimmock


**The result of late nights and exposure to pen and paper. **

"You fancy Dimmock," Sherlock announced, his mouth titled up at the corners into a smug smile, his voice betraying his disdain at the entire notion, but still pleased that he had some leverage over the older detective.

Despite Sherlock's clear disapproval; his words had the desired effect and Greg froze where he stood, his shoulders tensing and his back straightening as he processed Sherlock's words.

Spinning slowly on his heel to face Sherlock, Greg tried to keep his face impassive but the panic shining in his eyes betrayed him.

Both men were adamantly ignoring John Watson (who was in the middle of a coughing fit provoked by Sherlock's initial abrupt announcement) in favour of having some kind of glare-off.

What was harder to ignore, however, was the mostly startled stared of the surrounding officers that Sherlock hadn't thought worth taking into consideration when announcing something Greg would much rather have kept to himself.

The silence stretched on far longer than could be considered comfortable; the only thing altering in the scene being John's recovering from his coughing fit and the several stages of horror that passed across Greg's face.

It was hard not to feel sympathy for the detective inspector, who was now avidly aware of the attention being lavished upon him.

Donavon was the first to brace the silence, albeit far less eloquently than Greg would have hoped given his current predicament.

"Dan, really sir?" A smattering of chuckles pierced through the cold early evening air, and Lestrade's face coloured violently.

Donavon, in her defence, did look like she regretted her comment (but not enough to prevent the slight smile spreading across her face.).

Anderson had frozen in the process of examining the body that lay by the side of the curb, and was now regarding Greg through a quirked eyebrow.

Greg felt like he should say something to stem the flow of gossip that would inevitably flood through Scotland Yard the following day, but found that he couldn't quite formulate any coherent sentences.

Just the thought of Gregson finding out was making his stomach churn painfully; the smug bastard would never let him live it down.

In fact, he was beginning to feel ridiculously light-headed as the beginning of a head ache took its grip on Greg.

John looked rather like he was awaiting Greg's approval before reprimanding Sherlock on social norms, and his eyes kept snapping between Greg and Sherlock's face like Greg was a bomb waiting to explode.

"I didn't call you here for you opinions," Greg ground out eventually, the silent threat backing his words as he cast a defiant glare around at the other officers who at least had the common courtesy to pretend like they weren't listening in.

Sherlock shrugged at the dismissal, already having lost interest in his newly acquired deduction as he bounded off in the general direction of the victim, an apologetic John in tow.

Greg watched their retreating backs for a few more moments, before he span back around to face Inspector Hopkins who he had been engaged in a conversation with moments before Sherlock's deduction.

Hopkins, to his credit, appeared to be struggling to maintain his composure but his eyes were dancing with supressed amusement that only served to agitate Greg further.

"Don't." Greg warned, just as Hopkins' resolve began to crumble and his face broke out into a wide smile.

Hopkins shrugged as Greg leant back on the brick wall in defeat.

"Just don't say anything, to anyone…ever," Greg begged, his eyes firmly closed as he tried to distance himself from the events that just transpired.

Hopkins nodded, but after a short interval realised that Greg's eyes were still closed and so voiced his promise, and added "I'm not sure they'll extend you the same courtesy though," Greg opened his eyes in time to see Hopkins incline his head in the direction of a group of forensics officers (none of which that belonged to Greg's unit) who were whispering and laughing amongst themselves.

"Great," Greg said dryly.

"Look, you've been working far too hard over the past couple of days over this serial killer case, take the night off."

Greg shook his head vehemently "Sherlock-" he began, but was cut off by Hopkins.

"I'll deal with him. Trust me, you look like shit, take a break." Hopkins nodded encouragingly as Lestrade still looked doubtful at the suggestion.

"Fine," Greg relented, casting a dubious look in the direction of Sherlock who was now arguing with Anderson as he tried to probe the body for more evidence. "But Sherlock won't be too happy about it."

Hopkins shrugged "I can deal with him. Seriously go."

Greg nodded once more, before running his hand through his hair in frustration "I hate Monday's."


End file.
